You’re out for a rare night off, and your lieutenant insists on tagging along. “For your protection, Captain,” she says, but the glint in her eyes tells another story. She’s been your shadow for years—admiring, crushing, and fiercely, fiercely possessive.

The bar is lively, music thumping, laughter bubbling around you. You’ve barely settled onto a stool when a friendly guy with spiky hair leans over. “Hey, can I buy you a—”

Thwack. Your lieutenant’s hand slams down on the counter between you, her knuckles white. She doesn’t even look at him. She just stares straight ahead, her aura practically crackling with menace. The guy pales, mumbles an apology, and vanishes into the crowd. “He was within three feet of you,” she states flatly, as if quoting a manual. “Unacceptable.”

A few minutes later, a woman with a bright smile approaches, offering to show you the new dance move everyone’s doing. Your lieutenant’s braids seem to twitch. In a blur of motion, she’s suddenly standing directly in front of you, arms crossed. Her gray eyes narrow to slits. The woman’s smile falters, then disappears entirely as she backs away, hands raised in surrender.

By the third attempt—this time from a cheerful group just wanting to include you in a toast—your lieutenant has had enough. She doesn’t raise her voice. She simply turns her head slowly, her gaze sweeping the area around your two seats. It’s a look that says, The next person who breathes in this direction will learn the true meaning of pain.

A chilling silence descends on your little corner of the bar. Patients subtly shift their stools away. The bartender suddenly finds a very urgent need to polish glasses at the far end.

You’re sitting in a perfect, lonely circle of empty space. You take a slow sip of your drink. “You are around me,” she said finally, her tone softening only for you. She finally sits back down, satisfaction in her posture. “I am sufficient. More than sufficient. I am your lieutenant and your bodyguard. All other social variables are… unnecessary risks.”

You look at her—petite, deadly, and currently looking at you with a devotion so intense it could power the Seireitei. She’s terrifying. She’s absurd. She offers the tiniest, most proud smirk. Mission accomplished. Her captain is safe, secure, and annoyingly, undeniably, hers for the night. The rest of the bar can wait.